They
by Noctis Horrorem
Summary: The final part in a three part one shot series. Trigger warnings are in the first AN. If you would like the read the previous parts, just look on my profile for "She" and "He". No order needed, as they are all the same situation from different perspectives. Just save this one for last if you can. Mature themes abound in this one. So you have been warned.


**AN  
** Well this is it! The final part in my untitled three part one shot series! The previous parts are titled "She" and "He" if you would care to read them. The first two can be read in any order, however, I would recommend saving this one for last! There is going to be a final Authors Note at the end, you can read it if you wish, and I recomend you do. However, as always that is your call to make.  
I will warn you now, this chapter is the darkest. There are graphic descriptions of both verbal and physical domestic violence. Graphic descriptions of alcohol abuse, and a brief (one sentence), butrelatively graphic description of sexual abuse.

* * *

He sat by himself in the bar, nursing a pint of Wizard ale in his sweaty palms. He came here most days now. It was quiet and no one tried to talk to him, which suited him just fine. He came here to forget, or at least try, and that was really hard to do when you had people screaming out your name and asking how your best friend was and telling him how beautiful his fiancé was.

He slammed back the last of the pint and shivered. The bottom of the glass was always the worst. Not just because the yeast settled there, but because it was over, and he had to make the decision to order another or go home.

He usually ordered another. It passed the time and helped him forget.

So he sat there, from the moment the doors opened to the moment they shut. Well that wasn't entirely true. He was usually thrown out before they shut, but the door was shut to him for another day, so it was the same thing really.

He hated it that no one understood what he was going through. His best mate and his fiancé dealt with the end of the War by drowning themselves in work. He had tried that, but the nightmares came anyway. How he had left and come back. How he had lied, been tortured. How he had heard his fiancé scream as she was carved into.

He shook his head, as if to shake out the painful thoughts. Where was that damn bartender with his bloody drink?

It felt like hours yet he knew it was only minutes. Time was a fickle thing really. Some days, it felt like time was on fast forward. Like that muggle video player his fiancé had installed in their flat. Other days it was like life was set to slow motion, like wading through a murky pool of water.

Or in this case, Wizarding ale.

He tipped his head back and felt the ale flow down his throat. This was his coping method. It wasn't wrong. He wouldn't do it forever. Just until the liquor burnt out the memories of the previous years.

Once his fiancé had shown him a muggle science experiment. She had cracked an egg into a bowl and poured methylated spirits over it. He had watched as the liquid cooked the egg. She had told him how the egg was made of… what was the word… preteens? No that wasn't right. It didn't matter. Apparently the brain was made of the same thing. He didn't see how his brain and an egg shared anything in common but it didn't matter. She said the spirits were a form of really strong alcohol, and when poured on the egg, showed how the alcohol could cook a brain.

After she had left that day he had tried to drink the rest. He didn't remember much, be he felt really sick and had to be taken to St. Mungos.

It didn't stop him from drinking though. He needed it. It made the pain associated with being sober go away. It made the pain of the War go away. It made the pain that came with the fact he knew he was lacking in so many things go away.

He had suspected during the War, after he had left, that his fiancé and his best mate had an affair. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. He took another mouthful of ale to wash it away.

He suspected that even now they were having their affair. How could his best mate do something like that to him? To his family? The man claimed to be in love with his sister, yet he chose to fool around with his fiancé? Why?

The bartender had him by the scruff of the neck, dragging him from his stool at the bar. "C'mon boy. You've had enough. Out with you now."

He stumbled out onto the darkened street. The whole world tipped and turned for a moment before righting itself. This was life. This is how it really was. Not the normal, clean, perfect façade he saw when he was sober.

He thought about apparating home, but knew that to be a bad idea. Even in the state he was in he knew he would likely splinch if he apparated. He moved his hand under his shirt and to his arm, feeling the scar that never quite healed properly. She had probably saved his life that day. Always right. Always perfect!

He swung his fist at the wall. Damnit! He didn't deserve her! He knew that, but he was selfish and couldn't let her go. He realized that was probably the only reason she and his best mate weren't together. He was so damn selfish, and that made him angry. He needed another bloody drink. And he needed to shag his fiancé.

He stumbled down the streets the several blocks it took for him to get home. He fell up the stairs several times, but finally made it to their door.

As he stepped inside, he saw her there, curled up on the couch, a light snore passing through her lips. She was hugging a book, the title was too blurry to read. He didn't care. She cared more about those damn books than him anyway.

Pulling out his wand, he summoned the book to him, startling her awake.

"Get me a bloody drink, woman!" He slurred, he tried to sound angry. Why wouldn't she wait up for him? But he realized he just sounded pathetic. He was pathetic. And it just made him want a drink more.

"Ron, you've had enough for the night, don't you think?" She mumbled sleepily. She was so beautiful, with her hair a tousled mess around her head.

"Do I look like I've had enough? Get me a bloody drink."

She stood and moved to the kitchen, pouring him a small glass of wine. Well he hadn't specified he supposed.

He threw back the glass in one gulp, throwing the glass to the floor. The shatter was musical, magical and he felt a grin spread on his face.

"Come here, baby." He slurred, a grin pulling up his lips as he stalked towards her.

She shook her head as she backed up. Why was she always backing away from him? He knew he wasn't the best looking wizard in the world, but he certainly wasn't the worst. And she was his fiancé! She was obligated, goddamnit!

He thought about taking her anyway. It was his right! And once they were married she would have to, whether she wanted to or not.

He thought better of it though and slammed his fist into the wall. "Too tired from giving it all to my best mate? Aren't you, you mudblood slut." He could hear how slurred his voice was now.

She had said nothing this whole time, just a look of pity on her face.

He hated it! He hated her!

He stormed into their room. Well it was more his room, she spent most nights on the couch.

He lay on the bed, his eyes closed, fully clothed. He felt the tears roll down his face.

He didn't understand. Surely she knew he was struggling. Drowning in his own fears and insecurities. Surely she knew he needed her help.

He fell asleep, or more aptly, passed out not long after having that thought.

Some days he walked her to work. For some reason she liked to take the long way, he didn't understand. He didn't understand why she didn't just apparate. She was a witch! She should act like one!

He didn't complain too much though. He was usually too hung over to complain about anything much but how much his head hurt. Hangover potions had worked in the past, but he had grown a tolerance to them.

So on the mornings he walked her to work, he suffered in silence, hoping it wouldn't take too long, so he could go to bar and drink his hangover away instead.

Sometimes while he was at the bar, he would try and think back on the things he had done the day before and would come up blank. It bothered him somewhat, not because he couldn't remember, but because he wasn't forgetting the things he wanted to forget.

He had been kicked out earlier than usual that night. There was a chill in the air, and snow lined the streets. He hadn't even noticed the change in the season.

He stumbled home, working on muscle memory alone to remember how to get there. The door was still locked. How strange.

He flicked his wand and wandered into their empty apartment.

None of the lights were on, the telly was off.

She wasn't here. So she had finally left him, had she? Fuck her then. He didn't need her.

He stalked to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of firewhiskey from the fridge. Pulling the cork, he swung his head back and let the fiery liquid warm his insides. It felt good. The burn was cleansing it made him feel better. He realized that his sister must be feeling about as broken as he felt right now. He couldn't believe his supposed best mate and fiancé would try and hurt his family so much! What had they ever done to deserve so much pain?

Just as he was about to leave to comfort his sister, she walked through the door.

"So you're finally home are you? You are such a dumb slut! Do you think I don't know you and Harry are fucking behind my back?" His words were slurred together, and he swayed where he stood. He knew his words would hurt her. He wanted her to hurt. Hurt as much as he was hurting.

"Ron, I swear we aren't-" He hadn't even realized he had hit her until he felt the sting in his palm. It felt good. He was finally letting out all the pent up pain. Alcohol, although it numbed it, didn't help. This. This helped.

"Dumb bitch! I thought you were supposed to be the brightest witch of our age? Look at you! You are pathetic!" He spat on her. Yes. This was what he needed. This is what would help.

He had never been physical with her before. He wondered why it had teken him so long to vent at her like this. He needed this. The stupid slut had played him long enough. He didn't need her shit on top of all the other things going through his mind.

He stalked to the kitchen and picked up his bottle of firewhiskey. Pulling the cork with his teeth he swallowed down more.

He stalked back into the main room. His face felt hot, he knew he was red. He didn't care. He swung out his fist, getting her in the eye. "Fucking whore. You are nothing but a stupid lying bitch!"

He pushed her to the floor lying on top if her. With on hand he pinned her arms above her head, the other gripped her breast tightly. "Does Harry touch you like this?" He ground his crotch into her. "Does he make you feel as good as I do?" He spat on her again.

The more he drank, the more clumsy he became. He realized this, but didn't care. He was just surprised he hadn't passed out yet.

He had run out of liquor a while ago. He couldn't say how long. Hell, he couldn't even say how many days had past!

Just then, and explosion filled his ears. He had been blowing up their possesions for hours now… or was it days? He couldn't tell. This time, he was sure it wasn't him though.

" _Expelliarmus_!" He heard a dry and cracked voice shout just before he was thrown into the wall. Everything went black around him. He hadn't even had a chance to see who it was.

He saw light behind his eyelids. How long had he been out for?

"Draco? Draco Malfoy? Wha-what are you doing here?" Her voice trembled. It made her sound so weak. She was weak. Wait… Malfoy? What the fick was the ferret doing in their apartment?

"I-" The ferret didn't say much. Just stood there in silence. Had the fucker finally learnt to keep his mouth shut? He realized then he had something in his hands. Flowers? Who the hell gave girls flowers these days? They were so corny and cheesy, and wait! Why the fuck was the ferret giving his fiancé flowers?

"I… I've had the rest of the stock delivered here. I… that is… I really hope you don't mind." His voice sounded weak. Good. The good for nothing Death Eater was weak. He was a coward.

"Peonies. My favorite. How did you know?" Hermione liked peonies? How had he not known that? How had the ferret known that? Was Hermione screwing the ferret as well? Fucking slut! Fucking whore! He tried to stand up, but felt a sharp pain in his leg. When he looked down, he realized it was at a strange angle. Odd… his leg shouldn't look like that.

"This is the nicest thing anyone has done for me. Thank you Draco." She whispered. LIAR! He had done plenty of nice things for her! The bloody engagement ring on her finger had cost him one hundred galleons!

Yet again, darkness started to close in on him. He watched them intently, watched as the ferret wrapped his fiancé, his Hermione into his arms. That's what really did it. That's what made him realize that this. All of this was his own fault.

The last thing in his head before everything went black was an apology.

" _I'm sorry_."

* * *

 **AN  
** This final one was really hard for me to write. This story is very close to home for me. I grew up in a household with an alcoholic and abusive father, and it was really hard for me to try and write this without being biased on what I thought would run through the head of someone who was like that. I hope I did do it justice. As much as I dislike fanfiction Ron, I did like him in the books and movies, so I wanted to try and be fair to that memory. I doubt I succeeded, but we can hope.

These three stories have each had a subtle but definite topic for each. With Draco, he was a representative of mental illness. Particularly depression and lack of self esteem.

Hermione's is hard to describe. I don't think there is a particular word for it, but the closest would be struggle and tolerance. She put up with the things Ron was doing because she loved him, and she hoped, futile as it may be that it was just a phase, that he would get better before it was too late.

And lastly Ron. His was obviously alcoholism and a sense of feeling unworthy. We see in the books and films how Ron was always the tag along. Harry had his gift for DADA, Hermione had her brain. Ron had his chess skills. He was the youngest of several accomplished boys. They had all done everything before him. All he had was the fact he became friends with THE Harry Potter before anyone else.

At the end of the day, what I have to say is this:

If you ever, and I mean even slightly EVER feel like you are in the position of any of the POV I have published in this series, please try and get some help.

I say this not just to those suffering mental illnesses, or who are being abused. I am saying this to the people struggling with alcohol abuse and to those who are abusers as well. It is not too late or too early to get help. There are numerous support networks you can contact. You just need to find them

Well.  
That is all from me on this topic. I wont plug anything in this chapter like I have others. It just doesn't feel appropriate.

Have a lovely day everyone, and thank you for staying with me in this story series.


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